


Surak and Socrates Want You to Masturbate

by igrockspock



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock needs sex advice.  Gaila is happy to provide it, and she doesn't see why Spock shouldn't get himself off while he listens.  Good thing logic is on her side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surak and Socrates Want You to Masturbate

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[challenge: cliche bingo](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/tag/challenge:+cliche+bingo), [character: gaila](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/tag/character:+gaila), [fic: star trek](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/tag/fic:+star+trek), [genre: adult](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/tag/genre:+adult), [genre: femslash](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/tag/genre:+femslash), [genre: het](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/tag/genre:+het), [pairing: gaila/uhura](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/tag/pairing:+gaila/uhura), [pairing: spock/uhura](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/tag/pairing:+spock/uhura)  
  
---|---  
  
 

Gaila strides across the quad toward Commander Spock's office, skin tingling with anticipation. It's eight pm., long past normal class time and office hours, and that means he wants to give her the one thing she loves as much as sex: a secret. Actually, she sometimes thinks she loves secrets even more than sex; sex is plentiful, but secrets are rare, especially since she doesn't seem like the type to respect confidences. But the truth is, not only does she keep secrets, she hoards and savors them. Secrets were one of the few things that made her life as a slave girl bearable. She had positively lived for the moments when a customer confessed a desire he had never shared with anyone else. The other slave girls had thought her lust for secrets was about power, but that was just proof of how badly most of her own people misunderstood her. Hearing her clients' secrets had been proof that they had exchanged one genuine thing in the middle of what -- for her, at least -- was a forced economic transaction. It made her feel privileged. Chosen.

In her first days on earth, the very idea of platonic friendships had made her inexpressibly sad, but in her 4 years here, she's learned to treasure them for a single reason: they yield even better secrets. Fears and worries and frustrations that Orions would just fuck out, humans talk about, like a conversation over a glass of beer is their sex. The same things that make her awesome in bed make her an awesome friend: she senses what people need and coaxes it out of them, even when they are uptight or reluctant or just plain terrified. She never would have thought it possible, but bringing people to these moments of catharsis is every bit as satisfying as giving them an orgasm. Sometimes even more.

So when goosebumps race up her arms and across her thighs as she mounts the steps to the linguistics building, it's not because of sexual desire; it's about the trust that Spock is about to place in her, and the knowledge that whatever secret he has will be a good one, worth the hours of patient teasing and tugging required to pull it free.

And sure enough, when she steps through the door to Spock's office, he is sitting serenely in the lamplight, stylus poised over his latest set of exams, giving no sign that he has called her here for a less than ordinary purpose. He steps around the desk when she enters and pulls out a chair for her, refusing to sit until she does, a human courtesy he began observing when he started dating Nyota four months ago.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," he says. "I have prepared the tea you enjoy."

She takes the cup and sips it slowly, savoring their silent companionship. She does not want the secret so badly that she is willing to surrender this moment of camaraderie with her mentor. By her own choice, most men in her life, both professors and students, want her at least partly for sex. Spock, however, wants nothing more than her mind and the easy-going personality that enables him to speak more frankly around her than he would almost anyone else. It makes her feel both treasured and triumphant; this intellectual and personal companionship is the one thing her Slave Mother had told her she was incapable of having, and now, near the end of her fourth year at the Academy, it is drawing to a close.

When the silence stretches a bit too long, she drains the last of her tea like a shot of whiskey and sets the saucer on the edge of his desk with a decisive clink.

"All right. Late at night, no projects to work on, nobody in the building but you and me, what gives? Why did you ask me to come here?" she demands, impulsively discarding the patient teasing and tugging plan. With Spock, sometimes it's better to be direct.

"You are correct to infer that I have asked you here on a personal matter."

No shit, she wants to snap, but she knows he must be feeling vulnerable somewhere beneath his practiced Vulcan calm, so she decides to help him instead.

"I assume the personal matter is Nyota?"

"Again, your inference is correct."

She grins; _of course_ the problem is Nyota. Spock has no problems _but_ Nyota.

"So what's wrong? Are you worried about meeting her parents at graduation?" This is most certainly not the case; no one in their right mind would ask her for advice about meeting anyone's parents, especially not since she'd slept with Robertson's dad a few weeks ago. But she needs to drive Spock closer to the moment of revelation, and her misdirection will force him to be more specific.

"The matter is somewhat more...intimate."

Now her grin is so wide it actually feels like it's splitting her face in half.

"You want to have sex?"

"Yes."

"Thank the goddess," she says before she can stop herself. "I was worried Nyota was going to break the motor in her vibrator." And damn, she really needs to work on keeping her mouth shut; she's good at keeping secrets, but bad at that gray area where she's supposed to recognize that she shouldn't tell something even though no one told her not to. The slip is worth it though because Spock accidentally sucks up too much tea and chokes a little before he can get it down.

"I had recognized that she was perhaps...frustrated some time ago, but I confess that I am uncertain how to best address the problem."

"Well, first we need an objective." Spock had taught her this much about experimental design and problem-solving. You always start with a goal. He looks vaguely reassured until she adds, "What do you want to do? Manual? Oral? Vaginal? Anal? Do you need any toys?"

The words tumble out in an exhilarated rush. She is so excited! Spock has taught her so many things. Not just _told_ her but actually _taught_ her. She had tried to thank him once -- well, twice actually, but that time when she tried to thank him with her boobs, he'd ended up teaching her Starfleet's rules about not fucking your instructors. Or Vulcans. Anyway, he wouldn't hear her thanks: "I appreciate the distinction between teaching and telling, but your thanks is unnecessary as observing this distinction is my job. I rendered no services outside my duties."

But the thing was, he had. Everyone else -- instructors, students, police officers, whatever -- had only told her not to fuck in public or not to sexually harass people (whatever that was) or to respect monogamy if she's going to live on Earth goddammit. But he had explained that monogamy is a tool for maintaining social order in the face of emotional pressures like jealousy and the practical necessity of knowing the fathers of your children. After the third time she'd gotten arrested, he'd even made her a list of places "illegal or inadvisable to engage in sexual intercourse." Best of all was the list of "conversational topics inappropriate for authority figures," which she's pretty sure saved her from repeating the "Sexual Harassment in Educational Settings" seminar. In a weird way, he's the only person at the Academy as comfortable explaining sex as she is. Teaching him how to please the woman he loves -- even if he won't admit to loving her -- is the perfect way to repay him before she graduates and loses the chance forever.

But Spock is still sitting mutely in front of her, flushed pale green with both eyebrows lifted in bafflement.

"I had not considered the variety of options," he confesses, sounding faintly puzzled.

"Well, you should probably save the anal for later, not everyone likes it. And she's probably pretty tired of toys by now, so you can --"

She stops mid-sentence, a little annoyed with herself her lapse in judgment. Spock doesn't need a menu of sexual options; he needs to feel secure and reassured, just like everyone else who's about to have sex for the first time, Vulcan or not. She leans a little closer but resists the urge to press his hand.

"Look, I think you're doing a great thing. You told me when you got together that you would have to make some changes to show her that you care for her, and this is a big one. And I know this is going to sound strange coming from me, but sex isn't just about orgasms. It's about forging deeper connections with people, and that's something you already decided that you want with Nyota."

"Your logic is sound," he concedes, "but I confess that I continue to find the topic difficult to address."

She makes a derisive noise. It's not like she's going to judge him for anything; just last night she helped Cadet Bustianos explore his octopus fetish. After that, nothing he could say would shock her, and she tells him so. Leaving out Bustianos' name, of course; she doesn't need to be told that tentacle-and-sucker love is not for public consumption.

"I find the story oddly reassuring," he says, allowing his brows to relax to their normal position before contracting them to a tight V a few seconds later.

"Your tone and diction, along with my admittedly limited understanding of sexuality, imply that cephalopods are an infrequent component in human mating rituals, however, before proceeding further with Nyota, I find it prudent to ascertain that my understanding is correct."

Really, Spock is lucky that she is who she is. 99 of 100 beings at Starfleet Academy would view this as an irresistible opportunity for a practical joke, but she's been raised to know that messing up someone's first sexual encounter is not only mean but actually immoral.

"Definitely leave the squids at home," she says. "Assuming that you even have any at home to begin with."

Spock doesn't laugh or smile, but the tension breaks. She can see it in his shoulders, just a tiny bit looser than they were before.

"Look," she says, "I don't want to overwhelm you, but there are choices, and I can help you more if you know what you want to do."

"Mastering a single skill would be most efficient," he allows, then pauses. "I do not believe I am prepared to complete the act of coitus, though I do desire to provide an experience that is both intimate and pleasurable for Nyota."

Okay, that's easy. Oral sex, she thinks. It's been awhile since she's gone down on Nyota, but she never forgets an orgasm.

"Okay, that's easy," she says. "Oral sex. It's been awhile since I've gone down on Nyota, but I never forget an orgasm."

Spock swallows convulsively and sets his tea cup down a little too hard.

"I was not aware of Nyota's interest in lesbian relationships."

He sounds severe, forbidding even, but Gaila knows the truth. He is _so_ turned on. Vulcan, half-Vulcan, whatever. There isn't a man in the galaxy who doesn't like picturing two women together. Still, a _relationship_? Who does he think she is? She does _not_ bind herself to the monogamous slavery humans call relationships, and that point will have to be clarified.

"_Not_ a relationship," she snaps. "A perfectly sane, normal, free exchange between two rational friends who need a little stress relief."

She waits for Spock to apologize because he's usually so perceptive about these things, but he seems stuck on the word 'exchange.'

"Your implication is that Nyota returned...the favor."

"Of course she did!" Now she's forgotten all about the secret she came here to collect. Respected mentor or not, she will not allow him to insult her best friend by suggesting that she ever would have accepted an orgasm without offering one in return. Only a slave master would do something like that.

Something in her eyes must have warned him because he begins by apologizing.

"I intended no offense. I am merely...intrigued by this aspect of Nyota's life. Did you engage in such exchanges often?"

Gaila leans back in her chair, mollified.

"Not often, really," she says, a touch regretfully. Then, because she wants to keep him interested, she glances at him coyly and adds, "but when we did, it was good."

Tension crackles between them, different from the awkwardness before. He wants her to continue. He _longs_ for it, she knows, even though nothing in his face or body has changed except the way he leans forward in his chair a little more than usual. Still, she stays silent, a Vulcan conversational technique for suggesting that the other person should speak.

A pale green flush creeps across the tips of his ears, and at length, he leans forward and asks in a low voice, "What is Nyota like during your exchanges?"

She resists the urge to lean in toward him as if she's gossiping with a friend; she needs to keep building the tension if she wants to keep him talking. Instead, she reclines a little further and stretches out her long green legs, tugging on one of her auburn curls as if lost in thought. Actually, she is lost in thought a little, remembering the whisper of Nyota's silky black hair against loose against her thighs, the carefully controlled flicks of her tongue, the way she'd jab her fingers deep inside at the moments when Gaila least expected it.

"She's very precise."

Then she lets her voice go a notch deeper and adds, "you know, with her tongue."

"Oh," Spock says simply, his chair now pulled as close to the desk as possible. One of his hands has vanished below his waist, and Gaila's pretty sure it's resting on what must be a sizable bulge in his trousers.

The thought is sexier than she expected. Reflexively, she opens her legs a little wider and rests a hand on her thigh next to the hem of her mini-skirt, searching for a final detail to bring Spock over the edge. She wants him to stroke himself.

"She always used to squeeze my thighs," she says, "right here." She clenches her fingers around the skin just above her knee, letting the fingernails dig in a little.

Spock says nothing, but she can feel that he listening to her with his entire being. The focus is nothing new -- all men feel this way about her, eventually -- but the intensity of his concentration is unique, and more than a little arousing. Goddess, this would be so easy. She wouldn't have sex with Spock, of course; even though she can't understand why Nyota doesn't want her to test drive her men, irrational territorialism -- no, _monogamy_ \-- is a quirk of human culture she just has to accept. But if she and Spock masturbated together, well, that wasn't breaking any rules. She can see exactly how it would play out: she'd spread her legs and slide a hand along the green skin of her thigh until she could slip her fingers into her panties. She'd tell him all about how Nyota likes to be touched, and then, probably without even realizing it, he'd start to stroke himself. She wonders if his cock would be as long and lean as he is. But that's not the point. The point is, everyone involved would be thinking and talking about Nyota the whole time, and she'd get way better sex tomorrow if Spock would just loosen up a little tonight. It would be like a little present for all of them. Spock would feel bad at first, but he'd understand that mutually beneficial transactions, however unorthodox, are logically justified. And Nyota'd probably be pissed at first, but unexpectedly masturbating with professors is just something that _happens_ to Orion girls. Nyota would get that. Eventually.

But first, she would feel hurt and betrayed. Spock would cite some logical reason for no longer speaking to Gaila, and she would lose the two people who'd made it possible for her to survive at the Academy. That would not be a mutually beneficial transaction for anyone, so she sits up a little straighter and crosses her legs firmly. The posture feels unnatural, but she'll have to endure. Sometimes cultural sensitivity really sucks.

Doing her best sexy secretary impression, she shifts the focus in the most professional voice she can muster.

"But Mr. Spock, if you want to help Nyota, you need to know what pleases her, not what she looks like when she pleases someone else."

"Leave that hand under the table," she adds, liking her new officious-but-sexy voice. "And no need for you to talk unless I ask you a question."

Like every other man in the galaxy, he obeys her without question, and she's pleased. Maybe she can't get an orgasm out of this, but he still can. Cultural sensitivity is all well and good, but denying someone the opportunity to get himself off is a line that she just won't cross. And if she happens to see something fun in the bargain? Well, even charity work has benefits.

"Tell me what you've done with Nyota so far," she demands.

"We have kissed. At times, I have stroked her hair or placed a hand on her hip."

The idea that two people could be together, exclusively, for four months not so much as touch a boob is obscene, but she chokes down her disbelief to offer some encouragement.

"She likes it when you do that. Touch her hip, I mean."

Spock looks startled for a split second before he catches himself.

"She has communicated this with you?"

"_Yes._ She likes how big and warm it is."

Gaila had totally thought Nyota was talking about his cock until now; it had never occurred to her that her roommate was subsisting on the touch of a single hand.

"Then it is logical to infer that such physical contact is a ideal prelude to further relations," Spock says, breaking into her meditation on her poor, deprived roommate. She nods, pleased that her protege is figuring things out for himself.

"Where would you touch her after the hip?"

"I could touch her posterior."

"Or?"

"The back of her thighs, which are often provocatively exposed by her uniform skirt."

"Keep thinking, and tell me your ideas."

Spock is silent for a moment, and Gaila settles back into her chair, appreciating the view. His eyes are closed now, and his breathing slightly labored. Thinking about Nyota this way makes him look strangely peaceful, as if the thought of exploring her body makes him feel safe as much as it scares him. She tucks this tiny secret away for her mental files, feeling as peaceful and satisfied as he looks. Teaching through questions is a technique she learned from Spock himself, and she is pleased by how well she's used it, making him feel comfortable with this strange new topic by placing them both in the familiar -- if inverted -- roles of teacher and student.

"Any ideas yet?" she prods, not wanting the silence to stretch into an uncomfortable one.

"From the backs of her thighs, her inner thighs would be easily accessible."

"And?"

He swallows, and at his next response, his voice quivers just a little.

"Her inner thighs would provide efficient access to her undergarments."

"Yes," she whispers, her voice as soft as his. "They'd be wet from how much she wants you. And she'd gasp a little when you touched them."

Now she sees what she's been waiting for: the faint motion of his arm beneath the table. She doesn't care what she sees or if she has an orgasm anymore; she just wants this man, her friend and mentor, to know this beautiful feeling of release.

Without even thinking about it, she reaches into her bag and plucks out the bottle of lube she carries everywhere. Always prepared, that's her motto. "Like the best goddamned Boy Scout in the galaxy," Jim had said once. She doesn't really know what a Boy Scout is, but it sounds like an accurate description of her; she's always on the lookout for more boys.

But that's not the point; she's only concerned with this one man now, and whatever he's doing to himself must chafe. She wants his first orgasm to be free, easy, and painless so she drops the bottle on the desk with a muted thud. The sound makes his eyes fly open, and he does something with his eyebrows that makes him look horrified and puzzled and fascinated all at once.

"It's lube," she explains. "You use it to -- "

"I am aware of the purpose of lubricant," Spock interrupts her, looking ready to explode with lust or fury or both. "However, I am not clear why you have offered it to me."

"So you can masturbate, silly!" she exclaims. She'd thought he understood how much she wanted him to have this, and that he'd finally accepted that wanting this physical pleasure was no more shameful than wanting to eat and drink. But she's spoiled it now; she can feel the atmosphere drain out of the room as Spock retreats back inside himself. It makes her want to bang her head against the wall in frustration, but she knows she has one chance left: logic. She has to catch him off guard, and she springs her trap quickly.

"Do you eat?"

"Yes; it is necessary for sustaining life."

He answers her reflexively, proving that however large her misstep, he still responds to her as if she is the teacher. That means she hasn't lost yet, so she presses forward.

"Where do you eat?"

"In the faculty mess hall. I fail to see the relevance of these inquiries."

"What do you eat there?"

"A nutritionally balanced variety of the 7 basic Vulcan food groups. Again, this conversational topic is not logically related to the previous subject of discourse."

"Eager to get back to masturbation, are you?" she asks, and raises an incredulous eyebrow. Undaunted, she demands, "Why do you eat a well-balanced meal in the mess hall when protein nibs and vitamin packs could keep you adequately nourished and maximize time available for grading papers and writing lesson plans?"

"Flavorful sustenance provides needed relief from strenuous mental activities, resulting in greater overall intellectual productivity. This fact is scientifically proven through numerous experiments and studies."

"So, in other words, you need a little pleasure in your life? And instead of eroding your overall capacity for logic, it increases it?"

"I was not aware you had mastered the Socratic dialog."

"Damn straight," she says. Not only has she mastered it, she knows that "Socratic" is a speciest, human-centric term that fails to acknowledge that both Surak of Vulcan and Kelnav of Andor used an identical question-and-answer format in their teaching. But she refuses to be distracted. She looks him hard in the eye, pressing her position as teacher.

"Answer the question."

"Although most Vulcans would deny it, your understanding is correct."

"So if the pleasure of a good meal results in increased intellectual productivity, five minutes of jacking off might have the same effect?"

"You are a corrupting influence."

"Thank you!" She smiles so widely her cheeks ache. It's the best compliment he's ever given her. That doesn't mean she'll let him off the hook.

"Your answer does not respond directly to the question. This implies a refusal to engage in logical debate. You taught me that yourself."

"Gaila, you _failed_ my class."

"Not doing homework is not the same as not paying attention."

"Evidently."

"So, do you concede that based on previously proven principles, it is possible that masturbation might restore your intellect and therefore enhance your capacity to use logic?"

"I cannot prove otherwise."

"Therefore, experimentation is required?"

"Yes." Producing that single word seems to require more effort than anything Spock has said or done that night, and Gaila nearly shudders with pleasure. She just beat a Vulcan. At logic. This moment is her orgasm.

"Okay, then. Open the bottle, put it in your most convenient desk drawer, and leave the drawer open too. Whether you want to conduct the experiment is up to you, but by your own admission, refusing to masturbate is illogical. Now, where did we leave off?"

In the few seconds Spock needs to comply with her orders, he transforms. She can pinpoint nothing different in his face or his body, but something is shining out of him, like he's just been liberated from a terrible weight. _I freed someone_, she thinks and this moment is not an orgasm. It is better than an orgasm.

"I believe we were discussing the most efficient means of accessing Nyota's undergarments."

Right. Back to the task at hand. She can feel herself getting wet just thinking about it.

"Getting to the underwear is good," she tells him, looking away so he won't have to worry about her seeing a lapse in control. "But you don't want to move too fast. You should make this last so she can see how much you care about her."

"I desire that." She hears the intensity in his words in spite of his careful, even tone, and she thinks she might want a man to speak that way about her some day. For the first time, she sees a small glimmer of what humans find so appealing about monogamy.

"Tell me how you could touch her thighs. Be specific."

"I could stroke them slowly with my fingertips."

"Or?"

"I could press more firmly."

"And you could glide your fingernails over them, or stroke them in circles."

"The specificity of your advice is most illuminating." Even now, he manages to sound logical and matter-of-fact, and Gaila stifles a giggle.

"Of course it is." One of the nice things about Vulcans is that they don't think that openly stating your strengths is arrogant. She hasn't lost sight of her objective though; she wants Spock to have an orgasm so he can come to Nyota knowing that a moment of pleasure won't destroy who he is.

"Close your eyes," she commands. "You need to picture these things, not just talk about them."

Spock gives her a look that says he wants to argue, but she quells it with a single raised eyebrow.

"I'm here because I have experience with this and you do not. Contradicting me is inefficient and illogical."

This time Spock complies with a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth that suspects is the Vulcan equivalent of a belly laugh.

"Now picture your hand on her hip again, and tell me what else you could do with it."

"I have often wished to allow my thumb to touch the skin beneath her shirt."

Unconsciously, Gaila curls her toes inside her tight uniform boots. _Just a thumb?_ she wants to shout, but she is beginning to see the appeal of taking it slow.

"How would you touch her?"

"Very slowly."

"And what would she do then?"

"My empirical evidence is limited but suggests that she might lean forward in order to increase contact between our bodies. On one occasion, she placed her mouth near my ear and made a small but unusually stimulating gasp."

"What would you do if you wanted to be absolutely certain she would make that sound for you again?"

"I could allow my hand to travel fully beneath her shirt, grazing her skin lightly with my fingernails in the same manner that she sometimes touches the back of my neck."

Gaila inhales sharply. She remembers Nyota's manicured fingernails digging into the skin of her neck, her ass, her thighs. She squeezes her legs together tightly, the sudden pressure making her even wetter than she already is.

"Now where will your hands go?"

Resisting the temptation to look at Spock is impossible now. His eyes are closed and his lips slightly parted. Everything below his waist is still hidden beneath the desk, but she can see his arm working, agonizingly slowly.

"I could..." Spock stops, swallows, licks his lips. "I could touch her breasts."

"Under her bra or over it?"

"Under."

"How?"

"I have often imagined..." His whole face flushes, and she can see the effort speaking the words costs him. She imagines his hand clenching hard around his cock, seeking the release he cannot quite allow himself. She'll make it easier.

"Pinching her nipples?" She doesn't wait for an answer; Spock doesn't seem capable of giving it. It's time for her to take over.

"She liked it when I did that. I used to pinch them hard and then roll them between my fingers. She'd close her eyes and lean back her head and moan. And if you push your knee between her thighs, she'll grind down on it hard and you'll feel how wet she is straight through your clothes."

Not touching herself is agonizing and delicious all at once. She remembers Nyota thrusting into her with a vibrator, harder with every stroke.

"What you suggest is not..." She can see Spock fighting for control now, his breathing ragged and his voice raspy. "It is not gentle."

"You don't have to be gentle," she says in her huskiest voice. "Not all the time. She likes it that way."

"I do not understand." Now his voice sounds more like his normal self.

"She needs to lose control sometimes, just like you do now. And she'll do that with you because she trusts you. It's not dirty when you're with someone you love."

It's not dirty when you're _not_ with someone you love either, but Spock isn't ready to hear that. One thing at a time. Now she needs to get this conversation back on track.

"Listen, you'll know if you're going too far. You know she's not the type to let anyone walk all over her."

Spock nods without opening his eyes. She sees the tension between his shoulders ease, and she continues, pitching her voice even lower.

"And you'll know she likes it. You'll hear her moan."

At this, Spock's breath hitches, so slightly that only someone with her years of training would hear it. His chest is rising and falling rapidly now, and she knows she needs to finish this quickly.

"Imagine taking off her clothes now. Let your fingernails run over her skin when you slide off her top. Suck on her nipples when you pull off her bra. And when you have it all off, push her down on a chair and kneel in front of her."

Spock is gone now; she heard the faint buzz of his zipper sliding down. He leans back in his chair a little bit, and she can see his hand sliding beneath his trousers.

"Then you're going to push her legs apart with your hands. Never mind if they're already apart, just push them further. She'll like feeling your hands on her thighs. Let your fingers brush her hair and her clit, and don't forget to look up so you can see her arch her back and point her hard nipples in the air."

She looks up again, licking her lips. Spock is thrusting now, slowly and gently, into his hand. She sees the tip of his hard cock, watches him brush his thumb over the top of it.

"Lean in and smell her. She smells so good. Spread her lips apart with your fingers and let her feel your breath on her clit."

She lets her pheromones go, just enough to help him along, not enough to coerce him. His first orgasm _has_ to be spectacular.

"Then just press the tip of your tongue to her clit. Take a minute and listen to her gasp. And then you slide your tongue around it in slow circles. Make every circle a little bigger, and then when you've covered the whole thing, move your tongue down and push it inside her."

She looks up and Spock is thrusting harder now, the whole length of his cock sliding through his hand. She shuts her eyes hurriedly, determined to avoid the temptation to do anything Nyota would deem a betrayal.

"She loves it when you put your tongue inside her. She'll dig her fingernails into the back of your neck and push your head down so your tongue goes even deeper. And if you like feeling her nails on your skin, squeeze her thighs hard, and she'll dig them in again."

Spock gasps now, the greatest loss of control he's allowed himself so far. She sees his fist clench around his cock, squeezing tight before he thrusts into his hand again. Now she's sorry that this is almost done.

"Pull your tongue out of her slowly. She'll moan and gasp the whole time. Lick the space right underneath her clit and she'll beg you to do more, but don't do it. Wait till she whimpers and then thrust your fingers inside her as hard as you can. She'll spread her legs wide open then, and you get as close to her clit as you can and suck on it slow and hard like it's a popsicle and you want to get all the juice out. Thrust your fingers back and forth inside her and pinch her nipples hard and suck and suck till she bucks her hips in your face and comes."

Spock comes then too, two small, ragged gasps and a single hard thrust into his hand. She lets herself study him for a moment. His breathing is slow and deep now, and droplets of sweat line his brow. He is beautiful, but more than that, he looks more at peace than she has ever seen him -- not simply still and calm, but loose and relaxed. She rises silently, smooths her skirt, and slips out the door, not wanting to risk shaming him with her presence. She had never understood the human claim that it is sometimes better to give than to receive; it had seemed foolish after her years of slavery and exploitation. She gets it now though, if only a little bit, because when she emerges into the cool night air, she feels as peaceful and satisfied as Spock had looked when she left him. The satisfaction is strangely deeper than what she might have felt if she had demanded or given herself an orgasm in return, and the reward is the same as all the best sex she's ever had: they both tried something new and learned something about themselves at the end.


End file.
